


Travels with Snape

by Sadsnail



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Adventure, Alternate Universe, Epistolary, Found Family, Gen, Hogwarts First Year, Severitus, Travel Journal, World Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-07
Updated: 2020-11-17
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:41:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 8,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26853871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sadsnail/pseuds/Sadsnail
Summary: After Harry’s first year Dumbledore agrees not to send him back to the Dursleys. Instead he has his holiday with Professor Snape, and this is his journal.
Relationships: Harry Potter & Severus Snape
Comments: 94
Kudos: 217
Collections: My HP Favorites





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Best have Creator's style turned on.

* * *

Dearest Aunt and Uncle,

By now Headmaster Dumbledore must have informed you that I'll not be returning home this summer.

Send my VERY BEST love to Dudley.

Your nephew,

Harry.

* * *

While Ron, Hermione and the rest of the school were taking the Hogwarts Express back home, Snape and I floo’d from the Headmaster’s office.

“Spinner’s End,” I said as instructed, stepping into the green fire, and watched a dizzying whirl of hearths pass me by until one grabbed me and shoved me out. Snape caught my collar, saving me from a fall, and clapped me between the shoulders until I stopped coughing up soot.

“Well done, Mr. Potter. You managed to not get lost.”

“I could have got lost?” Probably good I didn’t know that, or I might’ve. The room we were in looked dingy, wallpaper was peeling off in places, and dust lay in thick layers over everything; it did not look as if anybody had lived here in ages. Probably because Snape lived in Hogwarts most of the year. Still, a bit of a clean, and it would be fine. Better than with the Dursleys, that was for sure. “Where are we, sir?”

“My home,” Snape said, sounding as if he was talking about a Gryffindor student who had dared to breathe in his Potions class. “Don’t worry your special little head, Mr. Potter, we are not staying.” He removed a small matchbox-sized cube from his pocket and tossed it on the floor. It turned into my trunk. “If you have anything other than school clothes to wear, change into it now. You have five minutes.”

“Yes, sir.” I was following Hermione’s advice and trying for politeness, but Snape was already gone. A year in Potions class had taught us that the wizard gave not a second extra when he told you to get something done, so I opened my trunk and got busy. Muggle or magical clothes? Snape hadn’t said. I would look silly if we went to a Muggle area in a robe, but the opposite would be fine, so I chose jeans and a jumper, thanking the twins for their help in fixing my clothes. Experts in wearing second-hand clothes from their older brothers, they did it in my first week in Hogwarts, and I was happy to worship the ground Ron’s brothers walked on. It was still Dudley’s castoffs, but now they fitted properly.

When Snape returned, I gaped at him. What would the bat of the dungeons be without his flaring cloak? He would be a normal person in blue jeans and grey jumper very similar to what I chose. He had even tied his hair back, making it look sleek instead of oily.

“Close your mouth, Potter.”

“Sorry, sir.” I grinned. Wait until Ron heard about this! It was a shame I had to leave Hedwig behind. Did Snape have an owl I could borrow? I had promised them I would write from wherever I ended up. Which was where exactly? “If we’re not staying here, sir, where are we going?”

“The North Atlantic,” Snape said and held a green peacock patterned sock out. “Take that and hold on tight.”

That was how I learned about portkeys.

* * *

_Iceland. Reykjavík. The North Atlantic._

Having had no warning that I was going to be ripped from the world, yanked through my navel and spat out 1888 kilometres away, I had a wild moment where I thought it was an assassination attempt, so it was a relief to appear in the lobby of a hotel and not hell. A family with kids my age stepped around us. While I tried not to lose my breakfast, Snape went to sign us in, and we followed a porter to our rooms.

We were in a hotel! My first ever! Everything gleamed. The bed was the softest I had ever felt. There were towels and bathrobes and slippers. Lights and water turned on before I reached for it. The ceiling was charmed to look like the sky outside, and I spent a good while just looking and touching everything. There was even a phone with a twenty-four-hour room service menu. I doubted Snape would like it if I used it, but it was nice to think I could. I even had my own bathroom! 

I was unpacking my stuff and folding my clothes into the drawers when Snape entered my bedroom after a sharp knock.

“Take this,” he said, holding a leather-bound book out.

“What’s it, sir?” I asked, hesitant to take it after the sock.

“A book, Mr. Potter. You’ve seen one before, I presume. Our Mediwitch suggested you might like to start a journal over the summer and write down your… feelings.”

Madam Pomfrey had said the same to me. After the thing with Quirrell. And here was where I made my mistake. I should have just accepted the book, said ‘Thank you, sir,’ and dumped it in my trunk — he would never have known. Instead, the idea of writing about Quirrell and what happened on the third floor was so horrid that I tried to give it back and said, ‘I’d rather not.’

“We are not giving you an option, Mr. Potter,” he said, scowling down at me. I didn’t mind the scowl, a year had inured me to it and he couldn’t take any points while on holiday. “The last thing I’m interested in is teenage angst, so I will not be looking at the content, but I expect to be shown one page a day. What I will be following you on is your homework; you will not start the next year as unprepared as your first.”

That was still a sore point. The first day in Potions class I had completely failed to impress him and cost Gryffindor the loss of two points. From there on we never got on. Was it too much to think we could work it out this summer? It would probably help if I tried to do as he asked. “Yes, sir,” I said with that in mind, and set the book on my bed.

Snape had already forgotten it, he was staring with a blank face at the sweatshirt I was holding which was one of Dudders' and not the best. I stuffed it in the drawer while he told me about the RULES.

* * *

**From the Enforced Journal of Harry Potter.**

18 June 1992 -

**_Iceland._ **

* * *

**MY GOALS FOR THE SUMMER:**

  * Follow all 200 of Snape’s rules
  * Make Snape like me
  * Do not get sent back to the Dursleys
  * Write daily in the stupid journal




	2. Chapter 2

It was still morning. Outside, it was cold, the sky was clear, and it felt odd knowing I was not on familiar ground. I imagined the tea trolley had just passed by Ron and Hermione and they were now happily eating chocolate frogs on the train, still on the way home, while I walked behind Snape in Reykjavík’s magical district and was told not to dawdle.

We could have been walking in Diagon Alley. They had the same shops, bookstores, apothecary, a Quidditch shop with the latest brooms, a wandmaker, and even an ice cream parlor that looked like it could be the cousin of Florean Fortescue's where Hagrid bought me a treat nearly a year ago.

The biggest difference was that people were smiling and nodding greetings when you caught their eye, where back home you’d be ignored more often than not. A group of tourists stood in the middle of the road, pointing cameras at everything. Snape skirted them with a curled lip and I rushed after him. We passed by all the magical shops as if on a mission to save the Queen; most I got was a quick peek through the shop windows, but I promised myself I would try to slip away sometime before we left to get something for Ron from the Quidditch shop. That thought brought up a question and I sped up to Snape’s side.

“How long are we staying for, Professor?”

“As long as it takes,” Snape answered, being unhelpful. Stopping abruptly he opened a shop door, the bell ringing above his head, and stood aside for me to enter first. “Let’s go, Mr. Potter. We don’t have all day.”

We did have all day. We shopped. We ate lunch. Snape decided I needed to be educated while we were here.

That’s right, school was not out for me, we bought a City Card at the Magical Tourist, a small booth that seemed to be held up by mountains and mountains of pamphlets. The card was very similar to a portkey but gave us access to all the museums. It had a list of places to choose from: you pressed your wand against the museum you wanted to visit, and it took you right into a hidden part of the lobby.

Time flew by and we were suddenly back in our rooms, having eaten our dinner, with a long, empty evening ahead of us. Snape was going through a stack of paperwork that looked much like ones on his desk at school.

"It would have been nice if they had a telly," I said. It would have been. Without Dudders I might even get to choose the channel for once.

“You have your journal, Mr. Potter. Start on that or you may do your homework.”

I was getting tired of hearing ‘Mr. Potter’, it made me feel as if he was going to give me one of his favourite surprise tests at any moment, and I wondered if I could get him to call me Harry. Perhaps later. When I got him to like me. Today was the first day yet and it felt like he barely tolerated me.

* * *

**DAY 1.**

I, Harry James Potter, being of sound mind and body (at the moment), declare that this Journal is written under duress and a waste of my time. I am supposed to write about my feelings but I'd rather not. Since Snape is not actually going to look at it, I'll tell you about the odd thing that happened today. 

I am now the owner of new clothes. Apparently, Snape did not want to be seen walking next to Dudders’ castoffs. It is truly embarrassing having your Professor buy you clothes, but the worst of it was the swimming trunks. Soon I will have to draw on my Gryffindor courage and inform ~~the greasy bat~~ t̷h̷e̷ ̷m̷o̷s̷t̷ ̷f̷e̷a̷r̷e̷d̷ ̷W̷i̷z̷a̷r̷d̷ ̷i̷n̷ ̷H̷o̷g̷w̷a̷r̷t̷s̷ him that I can’t swim (Aunt Petunia didn’t even allow me to splash in the bath), and that he had wasted his money. He’ll probably kill me if I didn’t drown.

Actually, drowning might not be my end. There are volcanoes, and earthquakes, and hot geysers here. We visited TWO Museums, Hermione would be green if she knew. It was interesting, but I could just as well have been in school: ‘Hopefully, bringing you along will not be a total waste. Pay attention, Mr. Potter.’

So I can get killed by practically anything from fault lines to Snape.

This is the extra jumper Snape brought me because the one from Dudders was too thin to hold a Stay Warm charm:

I am looking off towards my uncertain future.

Snape has just shouted at me from his room that it was past ten — get this, the sun is still shining outside — and to go to sleep.

** WHAT I LEARNED TODAY: **

  * Underaged wizards are allowed to do magic in Iceland.
  * Conglutino (Cohn-GluH-ti-noh) — a swish up with a twirl at the end. A sticking charm, good for sticking drawings into journals. Takes around an hour to learn and makes the page soggy if overpowered.




	3. Chapter 3

Don’t go on holiday with a teacher. This morning Snape tried to hand me a sock that had travelled from my bedroom to the living area — don’t ask me how — and my first instinct was to refuse it and ask: ‘Where are we going, sir?’ He hadn’t even told me to pack!

“Breakfast, Mr. Potter. As soon as you tidy up your mess. What are you on about?”

“It’s not going to take us anywhere?”

We blinked at each other. Then Snape curled his lip, shook his wand out of his sleeve, and floated my sock to my bedroom. “So it is not just my class that you didn’t pay attention to.”

That was unfair. I did pay attention in his class when the Slytherins left me alone, but I didn’t tell him then and will not tell him now. He had said the same thing yesterday when we landed in the lobby and I yelled: ‘What was that?!’

“What do you mean, sir?” I asked now.

What he meant was he couldn’t make a portkey in the time he picked up a sock and handed it over, in fact he would be hard pressed to make it at all since it required a specialist in magi-travel. He also said that Madam Hooch was supposed to have taught us about portkeys and floo travel (which I had also not known about until he handed me a bowl of glittering dust in Dumbledore’s office). For all that I knew she did, but I had my secret Quidditch practice sessions with Oliver during her classes.

* * *

“You will be having remedial lessons with me, Mr. Potter,” Snape said over breakfast, as I was eating my piping hot Hafragrautur with raisins and brown sugar. (It’s oatmeal.)

“Of course, sir.” I was definitely not surprised. “We’re not going to gather potion ingredients, then?”

“We will have ample time to do both.”

What he meant was that he would go buy me a book. _Magical Travel and How Not To Die Doing It, by Trent Acar._

I was told to not make a nuisance of myself, to stay out of the way, and to utilise my time productively. Which was Snape-speak for studying. “Will there be an exam, sir?”

“If you want, Mr. Potter.”

“No thank you, sir. I’ll just read quietly. Without bothering you.”

“Do.”

* * *

We spent the day meeting people, going from one house to the next.

I studied.

Snape went out to their gardens and examined rocks.

I passed the morning sitting in whatever chair had been offered by our host or hostess, reminded myself not to be cheeky in case he changed his mind about the test, and looked at Iceland through the windows. It looked very green.

* * *

Thankfully Snape believed in eating three meals a day, timing it by the clock, and stopped interrogating the natives long enough to take us to lunch. This was now the second time in so many days that I’ve been in a restaurant, and also the second time in my whole life. No one was looking at me but I still copied whatever Snape was doing, just in case, and was relieved when he ordered for me.

It felt extremely strange to be served. I had to force myself not to jump up and help the waitress put our plates on the table, and every time she came to ask if the food was to our satisfaction I had to choke whatever I was chewing down fast to be able to reply. All while Snape sat and looked as if he dined with royalty on the regular.

If I made an arse of myself at least he didn’t tell me.

Lunch was Minke whale steak. It looked like beef and tasted like beef… but also of... fish. I plan to try the vegetarian option next time.

At least I finally found out why Snape was looking at rocks. I figured it out by the fourth house. By that time I could just as well have been wearing my invisibility cloak; he had practically forgotten I existed and was talking freely in front of me.

Snape was looking for ELVES.

I made the mistake of telling him over lunch that I hadn’t known elves were real, and he looked at me like I was Neville’s Bubotuber puss stuck under his shoe.

The correct response to ‘Who exactly did you think prepared your meals at school, Mr. Potter?’ was not to think you were funny and say: ‘The fairies, sir.’

I at least knew fairies existed, and that was thanks to Potions class. Their wings were used in five potions that Hermione could probably still name. (Ron and I only got three out of five right in the test, but that was good enough for us.)

I tried to change the topic, forgetting that he was just looking to find more ‘teach Harry’ moments, and asked innocently: “If we’re in Iceland, why haven’t we seen any ice?” 

* * *

We took a further break from his rock sightseeing to go to another museum.

* * *

Then visited more houses.

* * *

It was late evening when we returned to the hotel, though you wouldn’t have known it. The sun was still shining out and, according to the National Museum, would be doing so for all but a handful of hours around midnight during summertime, with Midsummer's day coming soon.

“Go to bed, Potter.”

“Yes, sir.”

(I wasn't doing so good in staying with my resolutions to make Snape like me, but I was trying.)

* * *

**DAY 2.**

I’m supposed to sleep. Even if I didn’t find it difficult to sleep since ~~I kil~~ the third floor’s stuff, it's **barely ten o’clock.** How can a holiday be exciting AND boring at the same time?

~~I miss Hedwig.~~ ~~I miss flying.~~ ~~I miss my friends.~~

Elf Snape looking at Bubotuber Puss Harry.

** WHAT I LEARNED TODAY: **

  * More than I ever needed to know about anti-Magical Carpet laws.
  * Greenland is the one with ice.
  * Icelandic elves lived in rocks and you were looking for trouble if you moved one, touched one, or — **God saved you** — _threw one_.
  * Snape is the ideal guardian for kids like Hermione.




	4. Chapter 4

You can close the curtains, and they have spells to make the bedrooms dark. Mine even had stars and the moon on the ceiling, but when you just KNEW it was light outside, it was nearly impossible to sleep. Even without the additional nightmares.

It was one of those nights. I spent it waking up every hour on the hour. Every time I closed my eyes I saw Professor Quirrell’s face, and felt his skin heat up under my fingers and I woke myself, gasping and trembling, not wanting to relive what came after.

Ron and the others said I had started screaming in my sleep, so now I slept with a pillow over my head. It happened a lot in the first few days and lately whenever I wasn’t tired enough. Flying helped. Boredom didn’t. Madam Pomfrey had said it was normal, that it needed time only; she made me go talk to her every day until school was let out and I went off with Snape. I have no idea if it helped, we didn’t even talk about Quirrell most of the time, but yesterday I really missed her.

The third time I woke, fighting for breath, I nearly died on the spot when I saw a dark figure standing over me.

“Calm down, Mr. Potter,” Snape said. “You were shouting fit to wake the dead.”

“Sorry, sir.” I sat up and felt around for my glasses. My shirt was stuck to my back, and the room felt too cold. I shivered. “What time is it? Do I have to get up?”

“No. You need to go back to sleep.” A hand touched my forehead and I recoiled without thought.

I found my glasses, and immediately wished I hadn’t, for now I could see Snape’s face. Had I interrupted him in the process of strangling me I wouldn’t have been surprised. I apologised again. “Sorry, sir.”

“Enough of your asinine apologies. Change into dry pajamas, I will be back.”

Changing as quickly as I could, I was just back in bed when Snape returned, carrying a familiar vial. Sleep-ease. I had it a couple of times in the infirmary.

“Drink this. Tomorrow I will start teaching you meditation techniques which you can do before bed, it will help with the nightmares. You shouldn’t rely on potions.”

I took the vial gladly and swallowed the bittersweet gunk down like the Infirmary regular I was. Honestly, I did not know whether he was being nice or whether he was just doing this to shut me up and get some sleep himself. He talked as if it was a hardship just to look at me but then again he did that with everyone. My head felt heavy and I sagged down onto the pillow. “Why do you hate me?”

If he answered, I didn’t know. Hands removed my glasses. Someone tucked me in. Madam Pomfrey? Then nothing.

* * *

Morning came much too soon. We had breakfast in our rooms. Snape was grumpy for some reason, and I could have done with going back to bed. I don’t think I slept much. I remember dreaming of Madam Pomfrey and could still taste the potion she used to give me. Some vague idea that I should be embarrassed kept nagging at me. I ignored it and tried to remember my goal to be pleasant and likable, and asked about our plans for the day. Only to be told to stop my 'incessant chatter'.

It didn’t matter anyway because today was a repeat of yesterday.

It seemed our routine now was: wake up, have breakfast, go buy Harry a book, visit every last person in Iceland, population: 261,000 give or take a few.

We saw more houses. We met more people.

Snape was doing a great job looking at their rocks, I’m sure, but he hadn’t found any elves yet. I would like to ask if they even existed but he would probably send me home. I pretended to read, but in actual fact was too tired to concentrate, so I wrote letters instead.

* * *

Dear Hermione,

You won’t believe where I am. We’re travelling through Iceland in search of Huldufólk. That’s the name they call elves here. They live in rocks and everyone knows about them, even the Muggles. Though no one we talked to had ever seen them. Maybe invisible elves? I also have no idea what Professor Snape wants from them, **he doesn’t tell me anything.** Invisible toenails? I’m sure you would have known. Did you know Hogwarts has got elves?

Don’t tell Ron, but Professor Snape bought me two books. I’ve started reading the second one, A Muggle-born’s Complete Guide to the Magical world by Maggie Mustknoeit. I read it while Snape walks through people’s gardens and knocks on rocks. Also I’m nearly half way with my Herbology homework.

By the way, I’m including all the pamphlets from the museums (Yes. We went to three of them), and I’ll tell you when we find the elves.

Don’t study too hard!  
Harry.

* * *

Ron,

I’m still alive!! We’re in Iceland! It’s really boring but there’s no Dudders and no Aunt Petunia. I know you said it would be worse with Snape but it really isn’t, he barely bothers with me. If I’m going to die because of him, it will be from **BOREDOM**. He’s looking for elves, and after that we will probably go home, I don’t know. I will still see if I can visit. Did your mum say yes? When she does I will ask him. Write back!

Harry.

* * *

**DAY 3.**

Tomorrow I’m going to ask if I could stay in the hotel.

** WHAT I LEARNED TODAY: **

  * Nothing




	5. Chapter 5

**Finally! Elves!** And Snape wouldn’t have found them if it wasn’t for me.

You were not supposed to pick up rocks, climb on boulders, or throw stones in Iceland because you might anger the elves. And angry elves retaliated. But happy elves gave you near anything you want. Or so said Miss Maggie Mustknoeit.

It all started with the trolls. Somehow in all the search for elves I missed the fact that Iceland also has trolls.

Today was Jónsmessa, which was their Midsummer’s Night holiday. The hotel was going to hold a party, but we ate our dinner and then Snape took us to a crossroads in the middle of nowhere where he transfigured a chair out of a blade of grass. I tried not to show my disappointment.

“Don’t get lost, Potter,” he said and sat himself next to the road. “We will be here a while.”

You won’t get lost if you stay in one place so that must mean I have permission to... “I can take a walk?”

“Yes, yes, and don’t disturb me. Make yourself scarce.” That was said with such a scowl that I nearly saluted.

I made myself scarce. We were surrounded by fields. The only things visible were grass, more grass, some boulders and cows, and I climbed the nearest fence, hoping to put a good distance between myself and the greasy bat. I was just going to walk, but seeing Snape make the chair so easily I thought I’d practice some spells once I was far enough for him not to see me.

I passed a cow and it said, “Good evening. Mind the trolls.”

“There’s trolls?”

“Thataway, yes.”

“Thank you.” I turned left to go in the opposite direction. I had had my fill of danger.

I was five steps away before I realised the cow had talked, but by then it was too late to say anything without looking ridiculous, so I continued on.

I was more prepared for the second cow. Or so I thought. It watched with a somber look as I came closer, and I nodded a hello.

“Have you come to roll naked in the grass?” it asked.

What? “I’m just walking.”

“Don’t go that way,” it said, indicating with its long face the way I was going in. “There’s trolls. You don’t want to be doing anything with trolls.”

I stopped. “There also?”

“Where?”

“The other c… lady said the trolls were that way." I pointed east. "There’s more this way?”

“There’s only two.” The cow frowned. “If you don’t believe me you can carry on and see for yourself.”

“No, I believe you, sorry. I was just confused. Trolls moved about, did they?” After all, they had legs, and I knew they could move surprisingly fast. I changed my direction again after thanking the cow.

I was starting to think I should just go back to the road and wait for Snape to finish whatever he was doing when I met the third cow. “Good evening,” I said. “Is this way safe?” I pointed to the small hill in front of us. I figured if I got behind it Snape would not see me fine enough. “Or are there trolls?” I was starting to think trolls might mean something different to cows. (I was wrong.) The cow just chewed its grass. Oh-kay. Safe then. And just in case the cow COULD talk and just had better manners than to do it with a mouth full, I bid it a good night.

The trolls were on the other side of the small hill. I heard the thumping of stone first and smelled them second, and I hunkered down behind a boulder when I saw them. This must be where the school got theirs, I thought. They looked identical to the one in the third floor corridor, the one Ron and I had been trapped with in the bathroom together with Hermione.

I didn’t get a good look before, we were all too scared, but now I could see how massive they were. Over twelve feet tall, they looked like they were carved out of rock, gluey grey stuff oozed from their knobby noses, and they smelled like old, dirty toilets. The realization that we could have died that night hit me like a bludger to the stomach and a cold shiver ran down my spine.

They were having a fight, it seemed, throwing rocks at each other, and I slowly started backing away, only to stop when I realised I was wrong. They were not fighting, they were having 'fun' throwing rocks and boulders about, yelling HUR and DUR. I was about to take my leave and maybe go shout at a cow when I realised what was wrong with that: Those were elves’ houses!

Someone needed to save them! Should I run back and go get Snape? Would this count as disturbing him? Probably. I’d be on the first portkey back to the Dursleys tomorrow, so better not.

I was going to have to do this.

Ron wasn’t here to do a Leviosa while I stuck my wand up their noses, but thinking of Ron gave me the idea. He knew quite a few hexes, partly to survive Fred and George, partly to antagonise Malfoy, and he taught me some when Hermione was elsewhere occupied. (Studying.) The one we were both the best at was the most disgusting, and considering carefully, I cast it at the troll closest to me.

“Slugulus Eructo!” I shouted, and a jet of yellow light shot out of my wand at the troll. “Slugulus Eructo!” I shouted again, aiming at the second troll while the first dropped its boulder on its foot and started spitting out giant slimy slugs.

Both trolls should have been out of action, but they bent over for only a few moments before they turned to search for me, uncaring about the slugs they still spewed.

For a moment there, I thought I was a goner.

Then elves started popping out of the rocks and boulders one by one. They were taller than most adults and slender, with pointy ears and long shiny gold and silver hair. They were beautiful, and I forgot to hide, gaping at them in awe. These were the elves in our school kitchen? They surrounded the slug spewing trolls and started chanting until both fell down like chopped trees, making the ground tremble under my feet.

Suddenly, all but three disappeared, and those turned to look up at me. They bowed, and I decided not to run away just yet. It wouldn’t have helped anyway for they flashed and appeared in front of me.

“Thank you, Harry Potter,” a female elf said. “Without your assistance, we would have suffered greatly.”

“You couldn’t just do the chanting thing from the start?” I’ve been around wizards long enough that it didn’t surprise me to hear anymore when others knew my name. My scar itched.

“Not while any one of our houses were in danger,” her friend said. “You did well to divert them.”

“Oh, that’s good then.” I couldn’t help but worry though. It was one thing to help them, and another to help kill someone, even if a troll and I had enough nightmares at the moment. “Are they dead?”

They were not. I was invited into their house for refreshments, but I declined, thinking of stranger-danger, which Aunt Petunia taught Dudders but not me, and Snape-danger, which everyone knew about. They offered me a reward for my help, and I nearly asked them for toenail clippings just to see Snape’s face. In the end, I asked for something else.

* * *

“There you are, Potter,” Snape said when I went back. He looked very pleased with himself.

“Did you find the elves, sir?”

“I did.” He vanished his chair, and I remembered I didn’t even have time to practice making one. “There seemed to have been no need to wait until midnight, and they were surprisingly happy to oblige my request. We still have time to attend that party you were mooning about.”

“I was not—” well, maybe I was. The parties we held in Gryffindor after the Quidditch games were quite fun and I only had Snape to talk to EACH AND EVERY DAY. “We can go?”

“Yes, Potter. Don’t make me repeat myself.” He took hold of my arm and apparated us into the hotel lobby.

* * *

The lobby was packed. A band was singing on a small stage, there were tables full of food, and the room was crammed with people. Rainbow coloured bubbles were floating around everyone’s heads, rocking to the loud music. A group of teenage girls dragged me away from Snape — who scowled at the poor girl that tried to do the same to him — and we spent the night dancing and talking. Well, yelling over the music, actually. I did my best to ignore Snape who observed me like the world’s scariest chaperone from the wall.

Margrét Jónsdóttir, the group leader, told me they were going to roll starkers in the dewy grass after the party and invited me along.

“— what now?” The cow hadn’t been joking?

It hadn’t. It was a huge tradition and supposed to be HEALTHY. I declined going ‘rolling starkers in the dewy grass’ with them, sure my face would boil off.

I also learned from Margrét that I had accidentally saved myself by not accepting the hospitality of the elves, for it would drive you mad if you did, but if you resisted they would offer you a reward. And that the area we had been in was known to be the most dangerous, as there were a group of elves and trolls that banded together to catch unwary tourists.

I decided not to regale my journal about my meeting in the field.

Or tell Snape.


	6. Chapter 6

“Pack up, Mr. Potter,” Snape said after breakfast the following day which we had in our shared sitting room. A late breakfast. Closer to lunch really. Well, okay, it was lunch but he didn’t mention the fact that I had overslept, and I had the best sleep since the holidays started. “We’re going as soon as you’re done.”

“Back home, sir?”

“No. Make sure you don’t forget anything.”

All right. If he didn’t want me to know then I would not ask. It didn’t matter really, as long as it was not back to the Dursleys. I decided the surprise when we reached would be a nice gift for me. I’ll not go as far as pretending it was Professor Snape’s gift, but still.

I stood up but did not go to my room immediately; there was one thing that I was burning to ask and it was now or never. “What did the elves give you, sir?”

He looked up from the newspaper he was reading and stared at me.

“Sorry, I shouldn’t have—”

“It was cuticles.”

“What?”

“Don’t say what. The elves gave me a jar full of cuticles, Mr. Potter. Close your mouth, it is unattractive.”

I closed my mouth. I bit my cheeks. He was going to kill me if I laughed, right? I had been so close! Was it… was it invisible cuticles? I was done for. “From their… from their—” I snickered. “—fingers… or their toes… sir?” I asked.

I never heard his answer. Once I started laughing I couldn’t help myself — I laughed until I had to sit down on the rug, until I had a stomach ache and tears in my eyes. The wizarding world was ridiculous and I was slap bang in the middle of it. It was beautiful. I laughed until I had a headache and Snape sighed at me. Not a week ago he would have yelled at me, I was sure. I don’t know when that had changed, but the most feared Potions Professor in the history of Hogwarts just sighed while I practically rolled on the floor in hysterics, and said when I was quite done I should go pack.

It took me a while to be ‘quite done’ and when I was, I didn’t go pack directly because our doorbell rang and it was Margrét Jónsdóttir and her friend, Kristín, come to take me on a tour as promised.

“Oh.” I sobered up. “I can’t go, we’re travelling as soon as I'm packed,” I said stupidly.

“But you haven’t seen anything of our country yet,” Margrét said.

“I saw museums and some cows?” The cows definitely counted, they were my first real cows, nevermind the fact that they talked. And they were Icelandic cows. “It’s okay,” I said, very much aware of Snape listening to us. “I’ll write to you.”

“Where exactly did you plan to take Harry?” Snape asked unexpectedly from right behind me and I nearly died on the spot.

“Everywhere!” Margrét said and her friend laughed. “Kristín’s dad made us a brochure — he’s head of magical tourism, sir.”

This was Kristín’s cue to pull out a card similar to our City Card which you activated with your wand, and they showed him the list. Names were thrown about, some of them already sounding familiar from our times in the museums. Strokkur Geysir, Hekla volcano, Vatnajökull glacier, the Blue Lagoon; and the plan was to go horseback riding AND hiking AND swimming; it all sounded like a lot for one day, but we had slept the whole morning and if you took into consideration that the sun didn’t set until midnight, it was certainly doable. Or so she had assured me last night when we had made plans. Plans which I had not cleared with my new guardian and had completely forgotten about. My stomach churned. I didn’t know where to hide my head. This would have been my first outing with friends and I just wished I hadn’t been so stupid about it; I should have asked him last night or before I even said yes to—

“He can go but I need a copy of your itinerary,” Snape said.

I swung around. “But what about—”

“The portkey will not disappear, we will leave tomorrow.” Snape looked down at me with a strange expression that I could not figure out. “Get your shoes, your friends are waiting.”

“Don’t forget your swimsuit,” Kristín said.

“And a towel and extra clothes,” Margrét advised.

Oh, God. There was no way out now. “I can’t swim,” I told them and did not even peek in Professor Snape’s direction.

“We’ll teach you,” Kristín said. “Unless you have a phobia? Then we can give it a skip.”

I told them I was happy to learn and took my boiling face off to fill a backpack while Professor Snape copied the card. When I returned to them he reminded me to take my wand, and I went back again to fetch it, then had to wait when he insisted on giving me krónur, which was Icelandic money, reminded me to treat them for a meal, made sure I had the hotel’s phone number memorised AND had the hotel’s porting-card — which they personalised for each guest — in my pocket.

Margrét and Kristín giggled.

“What did he get from the elves?” Margrét asked me the moment the door of the hotel room closed behind us.

“Cuticles.”

It was a while before we were able to portkey out.

* * *

**DAY 5.**

I had the best day. I'm supposed to sleep but I just wanted to say I had the best day.

Also. It’s easy to swim. The trick is to keep Gillyweed in your cheek and chew it very fast when you start to sink, and you get GILLS.

** WHAT I LEARNED TODAY: **

  * How to swim.
  * Gillyweed does not turn you into a Merperson.
  * Horses like me.




	7. More socks

I yawned. The sock Professor Snape held out wasn’t my own, wandering about again, I took care now to keep my stuff in my room. He hadn’t ever said anything but I still didn’t want to give him a reason to not want me. Besides, I didn’t have one with broccoli monsters on. This was another portkey.

“Why is it always a sock, sir?”

According to _Magical Travel and How Not To Die Doing It, by Trent Acar_ , a portkey could be anything. Were socks a thing with wizards? Or just teachers? Headmaster Dumbledore had said the mirror of Erised showed him socks — why was Snape giving me the Bubotuber Puss look? Oh. He had already answered me, hadn’t he?

“Do not ask a question if you are not going to even pretend to be interested in the answer, Mr. Potter.”

“Sorry, sir. The Headmaster likes socks.”

He narrowed his eyes at me even more and I thought it might be better to grab the sock and not talk more but he pulled it out of my reach to ask, “Have you been sleeping?”

“Yes?” Margrét and Kristín had brought me back at two in the morning and he woke me up at ten. What did he think I was doing between then and now? Well, sure it took me a long time to fall asleep, hours maybe, but that always happens now. I did his meditation before bed but ‘clear your mind’ so far had the opposite effect. Thinking of sleeping made me yawn again and I nearly missed what he was saying about the sock.

“Travel agents do not like me,” Snape said, speaking slowly as if to Crabbe and Goyle. That was always fun in Potions. “Hold tight onto the sock, Mr. Potter. We’re going far.”

“How far?” I asked, grabbing the sock’s toe, but he activated it and the world twisted away.

I thought I would get used to this type of travel, I have stopped counting how many times we apparated or used the tourist cards but this time the twisting and stretching felt like it would never end. When the portkey sicked us up on a cobbled street in front of a colourful travel agent’s booth — it’s easy to recognise because of the walls of pamphlets — I staggered into Snape.

“Can we not do that again?” I moaned as soon as I thought it was safe to talk without losing my lunch. It wasn’t. I staggered around the corner of the building and said goodbye to it.

Professor Snape followed me and vanished the mess. Then pressed his palm against my forehead. “Can you walk or do you need me to carry you?” he asked.

I flailed away, squawking: “I can walk!”

“Let’s go, then. One more time, Mr. Potter.”

“Yes, sir.” I would rather scrub cauldrons than touch another portkey but I followed Snape back to the booth where he bought a port-card to our hotel. There was something wrong with the air, it was difficult to breathe, and sadly I was too dizzy to see if the agent really didn’t like Snape. Honestly, I shouldn’t be surprised if someone didn’t like him, no-one in school did, right? Maybe they should travel with him, he’s not so ba—

“Wake-up, Mr. Potter,” Snape said, sounding impatient, waving the magical card in front of my face. “Last time.”

The moment I touched it, Snape pressed his wand on the Hotel’s name and I blacked out.

* * *

I came to in bed, with an old homeless man leaning over me waving a smelly vial under my nose, and gagged.

“You have a mundane case of kinetosis,” he told me before I could shout murder, and straightened up, taking a deep whiff of the vial before capping it. “Coupled with hypobaropathy." He rolled his eyes. "Bed rest until you feel better, and limit your travel to Muggle means for at least a week. I need not have been called.”

Only half of that made sense. “What?”

“Motion sickness, Mr. Potter,” Snape said, appearing behind the stranger, saving me from a heart attack. It was a relief to know I had not been abducted but the way the room still spun I wish they had let me stay unconscious. “I suppose the other is altitude sickness. This is Doctor House, he was so _kind_ as to have a look at you.”

“I do not usually bother myself with common cases that could have been prevented by simply not porting eleven-year-olds every five minutes, but…” The doctor leaned over me a second time and I tried to become one with the pillows. “Your scar is fascinating.”

“Is it?” Professor Snape said, and then I had him leaning over me also. He peered at my head before holding out a vial of Sleep-ease. “I doubt it. Drink.”

I drank, ignoring the strange doctor’s irritated protest that he had questions, closed my eyes and let the potion lull me to sleep.

I dreamt of socks.

* * *


	8. Chapter 8

Ron,

You’ll be glad to know Snape hadn’t killed me yet. I bet you won’t believe it but he’s better outside of school, unless I talk too much, then I get death glare number 6. The one he usually reserves for Hermione when she sticks her hand up. Luckily there are no cauldrons here to scrub!

I haven’t received any mail from you or Hermione, do I need a fixed address for owls to find me? I wish I had thought to send Hedwig home with you; I don’t want to think of poor Errol having to fly to Iceland only to find out I am now in Peru. Anyway, I am looking forward to finding loads of mail when we get back home if it got stuck there. The girl at the desk assured me their owl will not have trouble going all the way to Devon, so at least you will know I am not having such a great time that I am forgetting all about my best friends.

Iceland was the best. There were trolls, elves, and talking cows! Do any of the animals on your farm talk? You never said. You must be so used to talking animals that you don’t think it’s strange. **Also I had GILLS.** There’s this plant called Gillyweed, but I bet you know it too. I brought some extra though, for when we go swim in your pond, if you haven’t tried it yet you’ll love it.

I have to write to Hermione still and my hand is cramping already — all this writing feels like school — so I will tell you everything when I see you.

Say hello to Fred and George! And send my regards to your mum.

Harry.

P.S. I am eating pizza in bed.

* * *

Dear Hermione,

I am having a blast! Well, not at the moment, I mean in general. Traveling is great fun. At the moment I am writing this from bed and so far we’ve been here three days but I’ve only seen Peru from my window. Don’t worry, I just have altitude sickness because we are in Cusco, and it’s 3,399 metres above sea level. The doctor said I'm 'particularly pathetic' since it usually takes a few hours for people to start feeling sick, not the moment they appear, and that it might have something to do with my scar. Remember the headaches I got? I have some now and need to drink an awful potion that tastes like mouldy chocolate. I’m probably not going to eat any chocolate frogs again soon, but that’s okay it just means there’s more for Ron.

If I am not better tomorrow I will miss the whole thing because according to Professor Snape there is just one night in ten years that you can get the special water that flows down Machu Picchu’s aqueducts, and the line of wizards will stretch from here to Timbuktu. (Which my new atlass says is in Mali so he exaggerated. I think.) You will like the atlas by the way, it has all the magical places on it also, and when we finish school we must go everywhere. I’ve already made friends that we can visit, you'll like them.

I won’t write more because it is making me dizzy, but don’t worry, besides that I am feeling fine.

Don’t study too hard!

Harry.

P.S. You’ve sent your letters to Professor Snape’s house, right? If you sent it to the Dursleys I won’t ever get it, I’m sure.

* * *

Margrét!

You were wrong! We are in Peru, not India, you owe me a soda!

We met this mad doctor who keeps coming back to shout at Snape about my scar. I don’t know what the big deal is but Snape has now started to hex him on sight. Before, Snape did it through the door, but one time he hexed the housekeeping staff by mistake — and we were only allowed to stay after because I am sick — so now he waits until the door is open at least. (I’m not very sick, don’t worry, but I hammed it up for the manager.)

Tomorrow if I am better — I will be! — we will go visit Machu Picchu and get some magical water. No elves this time and they have llamas, not cows.

Tell Kristín I might become a vegetarian also. I ate CUY, which I only learned after was GUINEA PIG. It was a great opportunity for Snape to tell me I need to read up on cultures when I want to visit them and to ask before I put anything in my mouth. I am now the proud owner of an Atlas and _The Most Essential Tourist Companion, by Miss Let S. Go._ Did you notice the name? Do you think someone is having us on? The book is full of rules on what to do and what not to do, by the way. There’s one specific part on how not to get socks from travel agents, which I think Snape skipped. Don’t bother buying it, you can borrow mine if ever you need something to make you sleep. Which I have to go do now.

I’ll write again!

Harry.

* * *


End file.
